Adamo Contemno
by desrouvier
Summary: (HARRY&DRACO) After the war ended Harry hid himself away. Now, looking back on his 7th year, he sees how things came to be, how that year changed him forever, and how it will affect his future. Can Harry go back? (TITLE: Fall In Love With Hate)
1. Prolouge

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. They belong to JK Rowling... as well as many elements in the story. The plot is mine, however. Reviews are GREATLY apprectiated! Oh, and this IS slash. So watch out.   
**Time Period:** About 7 years after school. Harry is about 24 & flashbacks of his 7th year at Hogwarts.   
**Spoilers:** Hopefully you've read all the books and book five. But it doesn't matter to much. If characters are dead... it's because it's implied that they died in the passing time period. ;D Did that make sense? I hope so. :x 

******************   
**Present Day**

He didn't know if this was another dream... but the bright sky above him was captivating. How long had it been since he'd even seen daylight? True, bright, sunlight? The kind on a warm spring day, just before the trains left for holidays. 

He'd forgotten what it was like to mess around with his friends. 

He could almost see Ron and Hermione sitting under the tree near the lake, the one they studied under on warm days. The same tree Harry knew his father, James, and his long dead friends, had sat. 

He remembered the last day there: so clear in his mind that he could have sworn it had just come to pass. The famous trio were saying there goodbyes to the grounds, wishing Hagrid a farewell and a "see you around", and taking one last look at the quidditch pitch, remembering the hundreds of times that Harry had been knocked off his broom and Ron had missed a goal. But, most of all, remembering what it felt like to be out there with the fans cheering you on. 

Back then they'd thought that visiting would never be a problem, so farewell to Hogwarts didn't feel so permanent. 

They would be back someday. 

_...._

Harsh breathing sounded in his ear, at first he didn't know who it was... but then he remembered as sweat dripped from his forehead. All the while he'd been dreaming: subconsciously wishing life wasn't what it was. A quiet "wake up, Potter" was breathed into his ear and his eyes opened wide. 

Looking at him, you wouldn't know who he was right off. 

His green eyes had diminished to a dull and almost colorless shade. Never again would someone say, "he has Lily's eyes", for they looked nothing like they used to. 

Harry felt a weight on his chest and he looked up, seeing the same face he awoke to every morning. The long silvery hair glistened and steely blue eyes made a once over of Harrys sheet clad body. A cold hand trailed across his bare and bruised shoulder, followed by a small kiss with warm lips. "Did you have a nice rest?" 

Harry would barely have called it a "rest", but he nodded his head, knowing any other answer would cause the other boy to be concerned. 

"Good." The voice was snaky and smooth, speaking to him against his ear. 

"The Boy Who Lived..." the voice mused, "or is it the Boy Who Died?" 

Harry, as usual, didn't know what Draco was talking about, or if it was even important. "You've made the front page again..." 

"Oh." 

Harry resisted the temptation to read it. He knew it would just anger him again, as it always did. He didn't really have a choice, he knew Draco would read him every last detail and then they'd spend 10 minutes ripping apart the facts on the pages. 

_** " 'Harry Potter, missing for over two years, was officially assumed dead today, on the anniversary of his escape from Azkaban Prison. Potter, nearing his 22nd birthday, disappeared from his sentencing on the eve of his birthday. No trace of him has been found since. Close friends, Ron and Hermione Weasley-Granger, Neville Longbottom, and many others still hold hope.' **_

Really, you'd think they would come up with some wonderful way to explain your escape, Harry. Maybe even throw in a nice little story on where you'd gone. I can see it now, 'Harry Potter sighting in Dublin'." 

He was sitting up now, smoothing out his hair, which was the shortest he could possibly get it. Not only did the greenness of his mothers eyes disappear, Harry also made an attempt to rid of his fathers unruly hair. He no longer had a mass of hair going every which way... nowadays it was kept short. 

For the 730th day in a row, Harry took a look at his surroundings, thinking in the back of his mind "today is my birthday". 

"Do you think if I changed my name people wouldn't recognize me?" Harry inquired. 

Draco's eyes shot up to Harry's forehead, "Maybe with some make-up... or plastic surgery." 

They both smirked. 

****************** 


	2. In the Dark

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. They belong to JK Rowling... as well as many elements in the story. The plot is mine, however. Reviews are GREATLY apprectiated! Oh, and this IS slash. So watch out.   
**Time Period:** About 7 years after school. Harry is about 24 & flashbacks of his 7th year at Hogwarts.   
**Spoilers:** Hopefully you've read all the books and book five. But it doesn't matter to much. If characters are dead... it's because it's implied that they died in the passing time period. ;D Did that make sense? I hope so. :x 

**Chapter One**   
******************   
**Present Day**

"I want to go outside." 

Draco sighed at these words, holding Harry tightly in his arms again. "You know you can't." He knew that, eventually, he wouldn't be able to keep him from doing what he wanted. Two years in darkness, stuck in one place, could drive any sane person mad. 

"But I still want to" was his reply. 

Draco knew, deep in his heart, that Harry was afraid to go outside, no matter how much he longed for it. He was afraid that, the moment the cool air hit his face, they would know where he was... and they would come to take him back to that awful place. In Draco's opinion; Harry, and many of the others who'd been condemned there during the war, had no right to be in such a horrid place. 

"I miss them."   
Unlike the last time he spoke, this time his voice was low and stuffy. His arms wrapped tighter around Draco's arms that encircled him: wanting support. Draco found himself whispering, "So do I" into Harry's raven hair. 

"Do you remember when this all started?" 

Harry stroked his fingertips across Draco's arm, "How could I forget..." 

******************   
**Hogwarts**   
_7th Year (last week of school)_

The seventh year at Hogwarts was always the most important for those who hoped to become successful wizards. 

The great hall was as busy as ever, the last Monday the infamous trio would spend sitting at their house table, speculating over their final tests. They all had to admit, as they talked about their fond memories of Hogwarts, that this year had been the best. It had been quiet. But, as some say, it's always quiet before a storm hits. 

It was then, in the middle of their remembrances, that Harry caught the pair of eyes staring hard at him from the table across the way. When he first caught hold of the Slytherins stare, it had been a look of loneliness and it had been a look of interest. But, only a second after their eyes had crossed, did the cobalt blue eyes look away and a menacing smirk return to the owner. 

"So, Harry, what about it?" He blinked, confused, and asked, "about what?", hoping they wouldn't ask him why he wasn't paying attention. 

"Haven't you been listening to a word I've said? Honestly Harry!" Hermione scolded him, repeating her question, "Over the summer, me and Ron were thinking about going up to the woods." Harry wondered, vaguely, why any wizard would want to sleep in a tent. Out in the outdoor, in the cold night. He snorted inwardly, the only reason Ron and Hermione want to go is so they could be alone in their tent, away from the prying eyes of Ron's mother. 

"So, do you want to? Neville, Seamus, and Dean all said they could make it. You can bring someone else if you want." Harry also wondered who they expected him to bring. They were, after all, the only people he had, that is… after Cho had left the school last year. Harry hadn't talked to her since her parents took her out. It had been his fault anyways. "It's going to be right before your birthday." Harry shrugged, "I guess so." 

"Oh c'mon Harry! We have to have a bit of fun before the summers over. Besides, I want to try this 'real camping' thing again." He took a bite of his roll, "I haven' been anywhere near camping since Dad took us to the World Cup." Again, Harry thought idly, after such an experience... who would want to go camping again?! 

He ran a hand smoothly through his hair, wondering if his friends would ever notice the changes that had been made this year. One of them was obvious: Ron had finally got up his courage to pursue Hermione, and now it seemed like you could never pull them apart. This left Harry more alone than he ever thought he'd be at Hogwarts. He found himself wandering at night, hidden well beneath the cloak his father had left him, and exploring the parts of the school he'd only seen on the Marauders map, but never been to. 

Staring across the great hall, listening faintly to Hermione & Ron's conversation, he remembered one night in particular, one of those nights you'd never forget. 

******************   
**Hogwarts**   
_7th Year (November 1st)_

It was storming outside on the Hogwarts grounds, the start of a cold and wet winter. The water on the lake was practically overflowing. 

Again Draco couldn't sleep. It didn't surprise him. Who could sleep with those two monsters snoring across the room? Throwing pillows, taping mouths shut, none of that worked. So he'd given up, thrown on his robes, and headed out of the common room without a sound. 

Being a prefect gave you rights to leave your room at night. This night in particular, he had to take a walk. So many thoughts had been running through his head since school had started back up. 7th year was the most pressuring for a Malfoy. It was the year where your father told you, "Hey, guess what son? You're going to be going against good and killing innocent people. Oh, and just so you know, you're a worthless piece of shit and this is all your good for". 

No matter how hard he seemed on the outside, towards Potter, the weasel, and the mudblood, Draco wasn't exactly the killing type. In fact... he liked to think the phrase "I'm a lover, not a fighter" applied to him on every level. He was a player, if anything, not a killer. 

Draco had made his way up the floors, past the fat lady painting, and up into the owlery. Walking over to the balcony he noticed something in the corner that wasn't normally there. It took his eyes a moment to adjust, seeing that it wasn't something… it was someone. 

"What are you doing up here, Malfoy?" 

****************** 


	3. A Cool Rush of Air

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. They belong to JK Rowling... as well as many elements in the story. The plot is mine, however. Reviews are GREATLY apprectiated! Oh, and this IS slash. So watch out.   
**Time Period:** About 7 years after school. Harry is about 24 & flashbacks of his 7th year at Hogwarts.   
**Spoilers:** Hopefully you've read all the books and book five. But it doesn't matter to much. If characters are dead... it's because it's implied that they died in the passing time period. ;D Did that make sense? I hope so. :x 

**Chapter Two**   
******************   
**Present Day**

Speaking softly, Harry retold the story. Draco listened, remembering. 

"If you hadn't of come in there at the exact moment... I don't know if I'd still be here." He said quietly, touching his forearm as he remembered doing that night. Only now it was with the tips of his fingers, and not the tip of a knife. But, Draco thought, there were plenty of times Harry had come close to "not being here". Almost all of which Draco had not saved him and, of all the times... it had been the only time Harry was in control. 

******************   
**Hogwarts**   
_7th Year (November 1st continued)_

"I said... What are you doing here, Malfoy," the stuffy voice came again, questioning Draco from the darkness. 

He watched the boy straighten himself, "You forget, Potter, I am a prefect. I should be the one asking you the questions." 

The Slytherin heard a blunt "pft" from Potter as he watched him stand up, wobbling just enough to be noticed. "Whatever Draco." With that, Harry pushed passed him, barely noticing he'd called the boy by his first name. As he reached for the doorknob, Draco's voice called after him, "You forget this, Potter?" Harry turned, noticing the slim object in his hands. Draco would have to have been blind to not see the red stain on the edge of it. Just as Harry thought the boy hadn't noticed, Draco had lifted the knife in wonder, staring at the sharp edge of the blade. "Killing innocents with your pocketknife?" It was still dripping slightly, red and brilliant. Even in the darkness you could see that it was blood. He knew that even Draco couldn't be so stupid. Harry stared at him, his eyes red and his arms held straight at his side, his one wrist curved so that the blood didn't drip to fast, almost as if he was trying not to hit the boy in front of him. His head was pounding; he was starting to feel wearier by the second. "Potter?" The voice sounded nearly concerned. 

"You don't look so good, have one to many butter beers today?" 

Today... butter beers... Hogsmeade. Harry could barely concentrate, faintly knowing what Draco was talking about. 'Just let me go. Let me find another room to lay down in and die' was all he could think, furious over the injustice of being interrupted. Then came the voice again, only this time less questioning and more concerned, "Seriously... what's wrong with you?" He took a step closer to Harry, looking ready to jump if the boy was to fall. 

The storm just outside the window seemed the pick up, howling through the cracks around the room. 

"I'm going back to sleep, Draco. Goodnight." He thought he'd gotten away, but instead he winced in pain as Draco seized his arm, just above his cut wrist. He felt the sleeve being drawn back, as he tried weakly, to pull away from him. "What in bloody hell did you do to yourself Potter?!" His eyes were wide, looking at Harry in disbelief. "What are you trying to do, kill yourself?" 

'As if you cared, Malfoy' is what Harry thought, bitterness taking over. "It's not your problem." He jerked his arm away, barely able to do so. He was now cold, but sweating at the same time. The door was open and Harry had finally made it out into the hall, a cool rush of air hitting him. But, just as he was free from Draco's eyes, he felt himself crumble down, falling hard to the floor. 

Everything became slower to him, his breathing became slower and rhythmic, and everything he heard around him became slowed down and far away. "What is he doing out here, boy?" He could hear Filch's voice, a million miles away, and then the reply, "I don't know, sir. I found him like this." 

His eyes were closed now, as well as his ears. He felt like he'd been locked in a desolate room without light or sound. He could feel himself moving, but not knowing how it was happening. His legs certainly weren't moving, so he came to a conclusion that he was floating. 

Draco followed Filch, having drawn up an invisible stretcher to put Potter on. He didn't want to explain himself, so he simply said he was out patrolling and had found the boy just before Filch had appeared around the corner. Once they arrived at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey had shooed him away. He gladly made his was back to his dorm, only worrying subconsciously about what was wrong with Potter. 

****************** 


	4. Time's Lost

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. They belong to JK Rowling... as well as many elements in the story. The plot is mine, however. Reviews are GREATLY apprectiated! Oh, and this IS slash. So watch out.   
**Time Period:** About 7 years after school. Harry is about 24 & flashbacks of his 7th year at Hogwarts.   
**Spoilers:** Hopefully you've read all the books and book five. But it doesn't matter to much. If characters are dead... it's because it's implied that they died in the passing time period. ;D Did that make sense? I hope so. :x 

**Chapter Three**   
******************   
**Hogwarts**   
_7th Year (November 2nd)_

Harry hated to lose track of time. Right now... he hadn't a clue where he was, nonetheless what time of day it was. Hell, he didn't even know the day. He knew one thing-he was still alive. Not only alive, but alive, in the hospital wing, with Madame Pomfrey bustling around him, muttering about how in all her years she'd never had someone who'd hurt themselves on purpose. "... Those wretched Weasley twins, trying out their silly little tricks on each other… Always coming in here sick to their stomachs. Despicable behavior. Though it was quite funny what they did to that Umbridge woman..." 

If he'd had enough strength, he would have cursed her to shut her up. 

It was clear to Harry that he couldn't make up a story now about his wrist. He couldn't tell some bullshit to get everyone who "cared" off his back. He'd planned to say that he'd fallen and hit himself on a sharp edge of the table- that he'd been on his way to the hospital wing when that stupid git had found him. You always need to have a back-up story about things, even if you didn't expect to live long enough to use the excuse. How was he supposed to know that Malfoy would come into the owlery just seconds after he'd let the knife cut across his wrist? Who would have known that Harry would be grabbed by his enemy and found out? Draco Malfoy... of all people! 

He wondered, still listening to Madame Pomfrey's rambles, how Draco would use this against him. Would he tell the whole school? Send out flyers telling the story? Or maybe he would just make little snipes at him, saying only things Harry would understand... the kind of things that would have Ron and Hermione asking him "what did Malfoy mean by that, Harry?". He didn't need that. If he'd needed it, he would have willingly showed his bleeding wrist to the boy, then cursed him right out of the owlery, leaving himself to die by himself as he'd planned. 

Harry sighed, wondering why he was even worrying about it. Another place, another time (very soon), he could steal away to a more hidden place and open the wound right back up again. And, he vowed, no one would catch him a second time. 

Harry Potter didn't lead a glorious life. He was far from "okay" when it came to his emotions. He wasn't sure if he hated himself, or the people around him, more. Either way... Harry was sure he couldn't stand it a moment longer. 

How much longer could he hold onto the "Boy Who Lived" title once the war began? He didn't believe in himself, though millions of wizards across the world prayed for his victory when things crept towards the dark more and more. Harry had a feeling that the worst was soon to come. The sharp pangs in his forehead, despite his advanced occulmency lessons, had only gotten worse over the last 2 years. He could still see things, FEEL things, that the Dark Lord did. Things he never had wanted to see or know about. 

Life reaches a point where you don't care who lives or who dies. A point where you just don't care that you could help protect the innocent. What would they give him for helping them anyways? A pat on the back and a "sorry everyone you ever loved has been killed because of this"? What good is that kind of reward for putting your life on the line? Sure, he'd only come to love so many people in his life... he wasn't even sure he loved his mother and father, he didn't think he knew them long enough to truly love them. But he knew that regret grew every day because he'd never known them. 

He pondered frequently what he would have been like if the first war hadn't happened. If his parents hadn't stood up to Voldemort, would Harry be the same person he was now? Or would he be like Malfoy, only not as villainous? Thinking about his father, and the things he knew about him, Harry drifted off into another dream filled sleep. Imagining himself with an attitude like Draco Malfoy. 

****************** 

**Hogwarts** _7th Year (November 5th)_

"How are you Harry? You're not hurt to bad? You feel alright?" 

"I'm fine, Ron." 

Yea, I'm fine. Didn't you notice the bandages on my wrists? He thought bitterly, smiling on the outside but baring his teeth on the inside. If he saw another chocolate frog from a 'friend', he'd have to drown himself in them, attempting suicide with death by chocolate. Maybe if he ate enough of it he would get sick and die of food poisoning. 

"You're not fine, Harry! You've missed so much in classes this week. In Hagrids class-" Ron rolled his eyes, shoving another chocolate frog into his mouth. "...We learned about Drazi and-" Harry wasn't even looking her way as she babbled on about some demon that hated those who loved. "HARRY!" She shoved him with her elbow, making him jolt from his trance. "Ugh! I can't talk to you!" She walked out of the room, insulted that he hadn't paid any attention to her the whole time she'd been talking. 

"Sorry, mate. Better go cool her off. You know how she gets..." He nodded and Ron ran after her, shouting that he'd been paying attention. 

He continued to stare at the door, long after they'd gone through it and down the hall back to classes, when finally a glint of blonde hair shone from the doorway. And, just beyond that blonde hair, black robes threaded on the edges with green and silver, and after that... gleaming blue eyes. To Harry's surprise, Malfoy looked at him and, without saying a word, put down a set of books on the desk next to Harry. He turned around, and strolled away, not looking at Harry more than he had to. 

Harry couldn't let him walk off like that, with no explanation of what happened that night. "Malfoy?" Draco stopped, twirled on his heel, and stared at Harry, his eyebrows raised and his smirk sharper than ever. "What do you want, Potter? I didn't come here to talk to you. I have class to attend to." 

With growing hatred for the boy, Harry spat out, "Just don't save my life again, Malfoy." Draco looked intrigued, huffed, and left the room. 

"Asshole." 

****************** 


	5. Avoidance

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. They belong to JK Rowling... as well as many elements in the story. The plot is mine, however. Reviews are GREATLY apprectiated! Oh, and this IS slash. So watch out.   
**Time Period:** About 7 years after school. Harry is about 24 & flashbacks of his 7th year at Hogwarts.   
**Spoilers:** Hopefully you've read all the books and book five. But it doesn't matter to much. If characters are dead... it's because it's implied that they died in the passing time period. ;D Did that make sense? I hope so. :x 

**Chapter Four**   
******************   
**Hogwarts**   
_7th Year (November 12th)_

A week later Harry was officially free to go about life normally. Well, with as much normalcy you could get when people were constantly whispering and glaring and avoiding you. 

He'd held himself back from attacking people too many times to count. But, coming as a surprise to Harry, Draco was not among those people who whispered and glared- instead Draco was avoiding him. He was the only one, in fact, that had avoided him. 

Unless you count the people that normally pretended he didn't exist. 

Typical behavior for Malfoy consisted of devious smirks and snide remarks. Instead of that... Harry received nothing from the boy. Not even a look. Maybe it was the warning Harry had given that kept him away. Somehow he doubted that was the reason. If a warning was all he needed to keep Malfoy away from him... he would have tried it long ago. 

The rumors flying around him should have made him burn with hatred... but somehow he managed to stay numb. After all, it would be over soon. Wouldn't it? 

The nighttime had quieted down for Harry after the incident. Instead of wandering the halls at night, as he had been doing, he decided to sit up late in the common room- tinkering with his notebook, as he had done most of the summer. Harry wasn't the type to write poems, but lately it was all he could do. He could barely manage anything else and, when he wrote a poem, there was usually a good reason. He stared down at his current poem, reading it again and again. 

_ Can't be innocent, can't be free.  
When you've pulled me down and held your hands to me  
Your blue eyes glistened, made the oceans jealous  
What is it you want of me  
What made you so jealous  
Didn't you notice you'd shattered my wings  
That you deprived me of all pure things  
No longer innocent, only a fake  
No longer me, but a remake  
No longer shining, but a dimming white light  
Heaven no longer sings to me, but detests of my sight  
_

He loved the poem because it was so raw... as if someone had been ripped apart, emotionally and physically, and in every way possible, by someone they'd loved. But hated it because it had nothing in common with him; nothing like his love life. 

Besides the rumors of his suicide attempt, life was dull. 

He had never been ruined by anyone, unless you count the deaths of his parents and his Godfather and every other reason to live. He hadn't been the target of jealousy, or so he thought in his ignorance. No one had ever laid any kind of hand on him, except to kill him . Though, on his most depressing days, all he could do was wish someone would. 

Harry ripped the page from the notebook, bending the spiral on the book, and threw the page hastily into the fireplace. No poem could describe his feelings right now… maybe because there were no words to do so. 

Looking back in the pages of poems, each one read like a story. You could read through them and know everything Harry had been thinking since the end of summer had come. Only these pages, and Harry himself, knew what was going on in his fucked up head. 

But now, when he truly wanted to capture himself on those pages, he couldn't find the words to do so. 

He'd just gotten to the poem he'd written at the beginning of the year when someone tapped him on the shoulder. 

"Harry..." 

He smiled lightly at her, "Hey Gin'." She smiled back, sitting down in the armchair kiddy corner him. 

"Why are you up so late?" She yawned and he answered, "Just writing some things that have been on my mind. I couldn't sleep..." 

"Neither could I." There was a pause as they looked into the fire but not at one another, "Harry..." 

Ginny wasn't exactly sure what to say. Should she bring up what everyone else feared to bring up? Should she leave Harry alone with his notebook? She decided that if she didn't do it, no one would, "Why did you do it, Harry?" 

He barely looked up from his writings, speaking low as his pen scratched the surface of the muggle notebook paper, "Sometimes you get to a point where it doesn't really matter, Ginny. Sometimes you just feel like your trapped and someone's using you as their own personal slave." 

Staring at him, she frowned, and added onto his speech, "Sometimes you just have to be strong, even if it means overcoming the worse things in life." She tilted Harry's chin up and kissed his forehead gently, showing him support, "You know... the strength you have Harry, you could do something so great with that. Take me for example: I'm in my sixth year and Ron still thinks I'm his 5 year old sister who needs to be cradled when she gets a scrap on her knee. But you, Harry, hold the respect of so many people. Do you understand how immense that is?" 

"I don't need their respect. I don't want it. Sometimes having so much attention on you and thousands of people holding onto you as their last hope... it's not as great as you would think." Harry didn't mean to be come off so pessimistic, but he couldn't help it. 

Ginny nodded and walked back towards the stairs to her dorm. "You'll see what I mean... Someday Harry, trust me." 

'No, you'll be the one that's going to see.' Harry thought in the back of his mind, staring at the fireplace. He didn't care what anyone had to say about him anymore. Ginny had only tried to help him, he should have been grateful for it, but somehow he didn't care. Why wasn't he grateful? Then again, Harry couldn't think of anything as of late that he was grateful for. 

The fire blazed long after Harry passed out on the couch, drifting into another tormented sleep. 

******************   
**Hogwarts**   
_7th Year (November 13th)_

It was Harry's third day back to classes and today was Advanced Potions, with the rest of his day free. 

One thing he'd been happy for was that 7th year gave you at least one almost free day during the week. So, every Wednesday, Harry had only one class. Though it was with Snape, with mostly Slytherins, Harry didn't care. He could fake his way most of the hour and, finally, relax for the rest of the day until quidditch practice. 

If there was one thing Harry still cared about... it was flying. Quidditch was just about the only thing Harry could still manage to put his heart and soul into. He was ferocious in games, sometimes to the point of getting himself pulled from the field. Even now, sitting here in Snapes class and listening to the lecture, all he could think about was flying. 

"Potter? Could you pay a little more attention perhaps?" He was tempted to reply with 'no', but instead he just nodded his head tiredly. "Five points from Gryffindor." Harry went back to scribbling in his notebook, knowing he didn't give a shit about 'points'. 

Not far from Harry was a pair of eyes glued to the back of his head. 

As far as Draco could tell, Harry didn't have a clue that he was even in the room. Either that or Harry didn't care that he was. His eyes scanned over Harry, catching the bandage across his right wrist that he knew he was trying to hide. Even he wondered why he didn't expose Harry to his peers. 

What was keeping him from doing so was a total mystery. 

Maybe the fact was he really did feel horrible for Harry Potter. Was that even a possibility? 

Before either of the boys knew it, class had ended and people had already moved out to the halls. 

Not only was Wednesday free class for Harry, but Draco as well. Though it was an oblivious fact to both of them... 

Hermione and Ron both had a class that day. So, almost every Wednesday, Harry found himself alone on the quidditch pitch, flying through the air no matter what the weather, even though he knew quidditch practice would start in two hours anyways. 

It just happened to be this day that Draco decided he should get in some practice too. 

****************** 


	6. Chase The Snitch

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. They belong to JK Rowling... as well as many elements in the story. The plot is mine, however. Reviews are GREATLY apprectiated! Oh, and this IS slash. So watch out.   
**Time Period:** About 7 years after school. Harry is about 24 & flashbacks of his 7th year at Hogwarts.   
**Spoilers:** Hopefully you've read all the books and book five. But it doesn't matter to much. If characters are dead... it's because it's implied that they died in the passing time period. ;D Did that make sense? I hope so. :x 

**Chapter Five**   
******************   
**Hogwarts**   
_7th Year (November 13th continued)_

The air outside was crisp and cold, the sun hiding in the clouds. Draco breathed it in, feeling himself shiver from the inside out. His fingertips trailed over his broom, which was freshly polished, as he made his way to the field. 

As the pitch came into view, he noticed the trunk, open, just a few feet from the entrance. 

A swoosh passed him, a red and gold blur. 

"_Potter_." Draco sneered, mounting his broom. He searched the sky, looking for the glint of the snitch. Then there was Harry, floating just before the goal posts, his green eyes shimmering with gold flecks. Draco watched him, ready to take off, as Harry came into a dive, coming just above Draco's head. 

Draco didn't need any more of an invitation, he thrust himself up, soaring hundreds of feet within seconds. 

The next couple of minutes were a blur. 

Green, black, silver, red, gold, more black... all mixing together as the wings of the snitch taunted it's seekers. Soon both boys were breathing hard, stopped in mid-air. They didn't talk, but stared at one another, eyes burning with the heat of the game. 

Suddenly Draco dove, Harry following suit. The scene was too familiar, but the outcome was unknown. 

Then, at the exact moment, two pairs of hands lurched forward, grabbing blindly at empty air. 

Draco fell forward, toppeling the 12 feet to the ground. 

He was breathing harshly, coughing from the cold air in his lungs. He sat for a moment, idly brushing himself off with his fists. 

Draco opened his right fist, feeling the battered wings of the tiny golden ball brush his palm... 

He'd caught it.   
Harry hadn't. 

Putting his other arm behind him, Draco pushed himself up from the dirt. But, just as he'd gotten himself standing straight, he was shoved sideways. Balancing himself, he turned to face Harry. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing, _Malfoy_?" 

"Beating you at your own game, so it would seem." He fought the urge to sneer, he really did, but he couldn't stop himself. 

After all, this occasion was perfect one for it. 

Harry glowered, his eyes squinted in unwanted frustration, his hair windblown. 

Draco, quite the opposite of Harry, was smirking, his blonde hair well geled back and his pale cheeks pink with the cold. 

Draco looked as if he'd just taken a beautiful walk in the park, Harry looked like he'd run miles around him. 

"Look, Potter, it's not my problem you can't even win a chase with the snitch." 

Harry's fist was clenched. Draco looked down at him, at the bandage on his wrist, "Doesn't look like you're winning much of anything anymore, does it?" Draco drawled on, stepping closer, getting in Harry's face. 

"What would you know about winning?"   
Draco laughed, holding the snitch by it's frail wings.   
"A bit more than you, actually. Or didn't you notice?" 

Harry was slipping, letting Draco beat him like he did. He didn't want to show his hurt, the hurt caused by the snide remarks and the proof of his loss. Draco turned away, letting the snitch fly from his hand as he strutted away. 

"Try again, Potter." 

****************** 

Short, I know. I'll try to get this going again. Be patient. :D Reviews are very very appreciated! 


	7. The Painting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. They belong to JK Rowling... as well as many elements in the story. The plot is mine, however. Reviews are GREATLY apprectiated! Oh, and this IS slash. So watch out.   
**Time Period:** About 7 years after school. Harry is about 24 & flashbacks of his 7th year at Hogwarts.   
**Spoilers:** Hopefully you've read all the books and book five. But it doesn't matter to much. If characters are dead... it's because it's implied that they died in the passing time period. ;D Did that make sense? I hope so. :x 

**Chapter Six**   
******************   
**Hogwarts**   
_7th Year   
(November 13th continued)_

Harry sat on the ground, playing with the grass, as he heard the shuffle of feet coming towards him. His broom lay beside him, unused. 

The snitch was flying somewhere, Harry didn't know where it had gone after Draco had let it go from his hand- and he didn't bother to recapture it. 

He probably wouldn't be able to, anyways... 

Ginny and Ron, both dressed in their Quidditch robes and ready for practice, were standing behind him. They both stared at him, hovering just a few feet away. He didn't take notice, his eyes were closed and his head was in his hands now. 

He could feel the heat, the frustration, the anger... it radiated from his face as he sat there, unaware of anything but what was in his own mind. 

"Harry?"... silence. 

Ginny shot a look at Ron, exasperated, as if to say _"what now"_. Ron didn't know what do to, so he turned away from her, watching Harry play with his wrist, tearing at the bandage. 

He exposed his wrist, revealing a dim redness. 

The cut hadn't even left a scar.   
Nothing left of his attempt, nothing to show his agony... nothing but the memory of it. 

The wonders of using magic to heal wounds... 

It pissed Harry off. 

He wanted to remember, he wanted to know he'd had the nerve to bring his life to an end- that he'd chosen a fate for himself. It pissed him off more to know he **didn't** have the control he hoped to have. 

Warm tears fell down his cheek, flowing without his consent. 

Ron and Ginny moved closer to Harry, worrying. 

Green eyes met with the siblings as Harry turned to face them. He stood up, pushed past them, and walked away. 

Again they looked at each other, confused, neither saying a word about what had just happened. 

  
******************   
**Present Day**

He noticed the room was freezing as he went over that moment in his head, but he didn't care. Harry laid in the bed, covered heavily by his blankets. Alone for now, all Harry could do was think. The coldness in the air reminding him of something long ago... 

  
******************   
**Hogwarts**   
_7th Year   
(December 15th, Christmas Holidays)_

The halls gleamed with green streamers and red lights. You could almost hear christmas music in the halls, following the groups of laughing friends. 

But...   
Harry wasn't laughing, neither was Draco. 

The train had been boarded hours ago, leaving Harry alone for almost two full weeks. 

Draco, like Harry, was stuck within the walls of Hogwarts for the holiday. His reason was much different, however, than that of the Gryffindor. He had somewhere to go, but the question was did anyone want him home? 

He'd received the letter last weekend. 

_"Draco, dear, you're father has some extended time off and we're going away during the holidays and for a week after. So sorry you couldn't come with us, you're father wants some time. Enjoy your gifts, love."_

His mother, so sweet and innocent sounding... did she know what her husband was? 

Sometimes Draco had the feeling his mother was under a spell, trapped by Lucius Malfoy. She was sweet and kind to her little boy, protecting him from Lucius when she wasn't to afraid of him. Draco would go far enough to say she was nothing like them, but more like her fool of a cousin had been. 

The Slytherin common room was cold and empty, only Draco, three sixth years, and three other kids Draco didn't really care to know, were left. 

  
******************   
**Hogwarts**   
_7th Year   
(December 24th, Eve of Christmas)_

It was safe to say that boredem was seeping in by dinner time on Christmas Eve among most of the students. 

The hall was quiet, only the chatter of small groups could be heard. 

Kids gathered at the ends of house tables, ravenclaws with hufflepuffs, gryffindors with ravenclaws, all sorts of combinations. 

Harry spent only ten minutes in the hall, barely touching his food. Colin and Dennis were conversing on his left, their words drowning into his ear. 

Draco, his table behind Harry, was sitting with his head against the wall, his eyes half open. To his left was a Christmas tree, the warm glow of the lights shining over him. 

"STOP IT DENNIS!"   
Slowly opening his eyes, curiously, Draco looked across his own table to the Gryffindors. 

Harry was on his feet, looking at the two brothers in anger. Dennis, as Draco knew, was the younger one and he was staring at Potter, horrified. Muttering something under his breath, to quiet for Draco to catch, the siblings stared at him, mouths hung open. 

Then Harry was gone, leaving a confused Colin Creevey trying to comfort his hurt little brother. Dennis let it be known that he was hurt, you could see the tears welling in his eyes. 

Draco, noticing he'd paid to much attention to the Gryffindor's outburst, turned his eyes away, looking down the length of the table to the other Slytherins. No one was watching, they'd gone back to picking at their food, and he was grateful for that. He didn't want people to think he actually cared for what problems were going on over there, especially bettween that idiot Potter and the lowely 5th year. 

In the midst of watching the drama, Draco's plates had been cleared. It was then he decided to return to the common room, though he didn't know what he'd do once he got there. 

But, walking out of the hall, Draco didn't go towards the dungeones. Instead he headed up through the castle. He walked past hallways he'd never been down and through doors he'd never even noticed before. He wandered aimlessly, never finding a locked door in his way. 

Then, suddenly, there it was... a dead end. A room. 

It had three walls, simple enough, and an open balcony. It was dark, except for the candles lining the walls on all sides. The candles weren't ordinary... they had to be enchanted. But not with the sort of enchantment the other candles of the castle held, a whole 'nother kind. The flames were a brilliant blue and white, shimmering with a sparkle to them. 

Across the room from where Draco stood, near the balcony, was a large grey bench. 

Snow blew in from the outside, it sparkled around the bench... and yet none of it actually touched its surface. Like the flames on the walls... it was enchanted. 

For what reason was it under any kind of spell? Draco hadn't a clue. He wasn't even sure where he was. 

Making his way across the small room, he watched the blizzard through the window. The snowblown sky was dark, mystical with the white snow. Sitting on the bench, the room silent as if it absorbed all sound, his boots made no crunch on the snow. Pulling his arms up under his head and bending his knees, Draco lay on the bench confortably. He straightened his robes out under him, still without a sound, and stared at the ceiling. 

That's when he saw it- the painting. A painting that he'd never believed existed. Why would he believe in something no one had ever shown him? 

The blacks, reds, golds, blues, and greens all blended together perfectly. Though it must have been a couple hundred years old... Draco noticed that it looked freshly painted. 

The faces from a thousand years ago stared down, firmly, on him. Questioning him, as if they were wondering why he'd intruded their space. 

Though, wanting to look away from the painting, he couldn't. Each time he searched over at it... there was something new to see. As if some of the painting uncovered itself as the minutes went by. 

"Captivating, isn't it? 

Draco shot up, nearly falling from the smooth surface of the bench, and watched a snow covered Harry Potter stroll in from the balcony. He hadn't seen him there... 

"Following me, are you _Potter_?" Draco sneered at him, as he always did, and stood up from the bench. 

"No. I was here before you, and long before that." Harry replied, calmly, shaking snow flakes from his black hair. "So you've been watching me then?" He squinted his eyes, spitting out the sentence with hate. 

"Yes." 

He searched Harry's blank face, an unnerving feeling coming over him. Potter had been _watching_ him the whole time. "Then why didn't you say something you bloody freak!" He cried out, angry. 

"Because you looked like you wanted to be alone."   
"Then why didn't you?"   
"Why didn't I what?" 

"Leave me the fuck alone."   
It was more of a suggestion than a question. "Because sometimes we don't know what we really want." Harry sat down on the bench, deliberately walking past Draco and looking him straight into the eye. Draco backed away from the bench, his back to the balcony. 

"The real question is... have _you_ been following _me_ Draco?" 

It seemed to take the blonde by surprise, "Why would I be following _you_ Potter?" 

This wasn't the only time the two had run into each other. They both knew that they'd talked more than they ever had in the past 6 years. 

"In the owlery, again on the pitch... and right now. What are you doing here Malfoy? How did you find this room?" 

Harry took a breath, talking again, "How did you find this room? The painting... did you noticed how it looked so fresh? So new? How everytime you look back into you see more and more?" With feeling, he went on and on with his questions. 

Draco became nervous. "I don't know, I don't care, and I'm leaving." He walked past the bench and away from Harry. 

Hoping never to find himself in that room again, Draco made his way toward the dungeons and through doors he didn't remember. 

Harry didn't follow him, didn't say anything. He lay on the bench, as Draco had been doing, and brought his gaze up on the painting. Eventually his vision began to blur with sleep. 

With that he fell into blackness, the cold not touching him. 

  
****************** 

I was all sad cuz I lost this chapter (which I'd written on notebook paper).   
Good thing I remembered most of it...   
Please review! Much appreciated. :D 


	8. Awkward Silences

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. They belong to JK Rowling... as well as many elements in the story. The plot is mine, however. Reviews are GREATLY appreciated! Oh, and this IS slash. So watch out.   
**Time Period:** About 7 years after school. Harry is about 24 & flashbacks of his 7th year at Hogwarts.   
**Spoilers:** Hopefully you've read all the books and book five. But it doesn't matter to much. If characters are dead... it's because it's implied that they died in the passing time period. ;D Did that make sense? I hope so. :x 

**Chapter Seven**   
******************   
**Hogwarts**   
_7th Year   
(December 25th Xmas)_

No one noticed his absence that night. 

The sun rose, as it always did, and the snow beneath the bench glistened. Harry woke with a groan and a stiff neck. 

At the same time, quite a few levels below, dim white light, almost non-existent, shone into steely eyes through the small windows of a Slytherin chamber. 

It was 9:05am on Christmas morning. 

Harry, shaking the sleep from his head, stood from the warm spot on the bench and walked over to the balcony. The grounds were sheeted with a nights worth of howling winds and blowing snow. 

The glare from the snow penetrated every part of the room, shining out the lights along the ceiling and making the walls glow with white. He watched, smiling oddly, as the sun made it's way up the skyline. 

Draco pulled his green duvet up around his arms, his white pillow fluffy under his head. 

He couldn't get warm. 

There was something about the dungeons that chilled you. The greenish fire, though it _was_ fire, seemed to give off no warmth and definitely didn't give any comfort to him. 

Looking around his room, he found it a mess. His shirt from the night before had been tossed down on the grim carpet at his bedside. 

Harry stared from the balcony, the sun now almost mid-sky. It had to be well past breakfast and lunch was closely approaching. 

He wondered, in the back of his mind, if Draco had made it back to his dormitories that night. 

Remembering the first time he'd tried getting back, he sighed. Only it wasn't likely Draco cared to remember where the mysterious room was, as Harry had. 

Draco had circled for at least an hour, searching for a way down to the dungeons. He'd found the same door three times before finding something that sparked a familiar feeling. 

And now Draco Malfoy was alone in his prefect chambers, hearing no sound from the common room that was just outside his doors. 

He convinced himself to get up from his covers, his white blonde hair now ungeled and hanging in his blue eyes. Bringing his palm to his eyes, he held them there, rubbing the sleep away. 

Now, standing in front of a mirror, he only wore his silk pair of dragon boxers. He'd been far to tired at 1:00am to bother finding anything in his trunk. 

The floor froze his toes as they touched the stone. A cold draft wipped through the room. 

Draco searched for his robes and, finding them at the foot of his bed, he slipped it over his cold, pale, shoulders. 

The common room was empty. He wasn't surprised, he'd suspected it would be. Any wrappings from Christmas had already been cleared. 

Six Slytherins had been left for holidays, he suspected they were all out drinking hot cocoa and skating on the now-frozen lake. 

Draco was alone. 

The clock above the fireplace in the Gryffindor tower ticked away the seconds, the bell started chiming. 

On the 10th chime Harry walked into the room, finding no one there. 

He was alone too. 

Changing his garments, and catching a long needed shower, Harry headed to the owlery to find Hedwig. He'd missed this mornings post at breakfast and, if anything _had_ come for him, she would still have it with her. 

Clambering up the stairwells to the west tower, Harry saw no one. Passing a window, he spotted staff and students making mischief in nearby snowdrifts. 

If Hermione or Ron had stayed for holidays, he'd have spent the morning with them doing what most every student was at this time of day. 

But, instead, he was indoors and seeking company from his pet owl. 

Hedwig cooed with appreciation and curiosity as Harry appeared. 

She had a letter from Ron... 

_ **Harry**, _

Hope everything is doing alright there.   
Everything's been going smooth here,   
though mum's still upset Percy   
didn't bother to send a greeting.   
I don't think anyone really misses   
him, though. 

Hope your gifts found you well.   
'Mione had me slip them into   
your trunk before we left for the   
train. If you haven't found them,   
look under your jumper from last   
Christmas. Fred and George sent me   
something to give you before break,   
it's with your presents. Shouldn't   
be hard to tell which, though.   
There's a picture on it of those   
two, a promotion for the shop. 

Mum sends her love. See you   
when the train's in. 

**Ron**

Harry has sent his own gifts with Hedwig and a school owl on Monday, having not thought to give them their presents beforehand. He only wished he could be with them at the burrow for Christmas. 

For the first time since dinner the night before, Harry felt a sudden pang of emptiness. He had been alone all day, not seeing anyone, so he shrugged it off as loneliness and nothing else. 

"Just you and me, eh Hedwig?"   
He ran his fingertip along her feathered top and down her beak. She nipped at him, questioning for a treat. Harry came through, plucking one from his pants pocket. 

Hedwig nibbled at the treat, happily nudging his palm for more when it was gone. 

Patting her on the head gingerly, Harry said his goodbyes and made his way down to the great hall for lunch. 

Draco, now clean, stood in front of his mirror and gelled his hair back slowly. Smirking at his own reflection, he pulled a crisp black robe cloak over his black shirt and pants. His prefect badge looked back at him, the only thing standing out on his clothing. 

Just the way he liked it. 

Harry sat at his house table, he was the only on in the hall. He wasn't bothered by the awkward silence because, soon, he knew students would come trampeling in, snow in their hair and their clothes wet with cold. 

Draco was outside the door to the halls, but he stopped himself from going any further when he noticed someone sitting at the Gryffindor table. 

There he was, alone. Harry Potter. Again, for the 4th time in the last 2 months, he would be alone with Potter. 

But, luckily, he _had_ stopped in time. He hadn't been seen. Draco turned to his right and walked off, as if he'd had every intention to do so in the first place. 

Slowly students poured into the Great Hall, Hufflepuffs first and then a few Gryffindors. Most of Slytherin came late, the Ravenclaws not far before. 

Draco Malfoy was the last in the hall, looking irritate yet still smug as he came in the door. 

The Slytherin table was in an uproar, louder than they'd been the entire week. And, in turn, the Gryffindors were quiet. 

Draco looked across his table at the three sixth. "What's everyone talking about?". 

Blaise Zabini gave him a look, "You should have seen it! Gryffindor tried to whip us in a little game of quidditch." With a whoop from the surrounding Slytherins, there was some high-fiving and loud laughs as if it was the funniest thing to happen all break. 

"Yea," Montague tried to stop himself from laughing, "the bloody idiots! A second year, a fourth year, two fifth years, and a sixth year flying on those rusty old Comets they keep in the pitch shed! And they _thought_ they could beat us! Tried to play with two chasers, one keeper, a beater and a seeker. Silliest thing I've ever seen." 

Again, more laughs. 

"You should have seen the look on that fifth year when the bludger came at him! Hit him square in the jaw! Almost broke his broom clean in half if I'd aimed a little lower." 

Draco laughed now, for the first time, at the thought of seeing something stupid Gryffindor flying off his broom. 

"Got in big trouble with McGonagall though, that Colin Creevey. Took it on himself to jump Montague when his brother got hit. Nasty little kid, i'nt he?" 

Staring across the hall at the Slytherin, Harry took a sip of his warm cinnamon juice. He took notice that neither Dennis nor Colin had made it to lunch. 

Harry didn't think he'd feel at all bad if either of them had been sent to the infirmary with a bloody nose or a broken arm. He had to keep himself from grinning outright at the image of Dennis slamming into the snow on the pitch. But, as always, he kept it to himself as he poked a spoon in the stew that had appeared in front of him. 

No one at the table spoke when Colin appeared, minus his annoying counterpart, and made his way to a seat far from Harry. 

Lunch was soon over, but Harry didn't bothering leaving the hall. 

He felt as if a trance had come over him, staring at nothing in particular, and thinking about nothing specific, when McGonagall appeared behind him. 

"Mr. Potter," she scowled, as if she'd caught Harry doing something he shouldn't. 

"Professor," he greeted her curtly, annoyed. 

"I take it your holidays are going well?" 

She looked over the top of her glasses, as if to say 'you're holidays _better_ be going well', and waited for his answer. 

Not knowing the right thing to respond with, he shrugged it off with a simple, "It's going, Professor". 

"I see... Mr. Potter, you weren't at breakfast this morning. Can you tell me why?" 

"Overslept," came his quick reply, hoping she hadn't noticed his absence from the tower the night before. 

If she found out he'd been out the entire night he'd surely be put on around-the-clock watch. 

Who was he trying to kid, he didn't know. They already had him on watch; he knew it but refused to acknowledge it. But if they knew about last night, and nights before that, he was sure they would be on him like a hawk, watching him _all the time_. 

McGonagall nodded her head in understanding, "Very well... I'll be seeing you at dinner then, I assume?" 

He wanted to tell her not to assume anything from him, but she didn't need a response from him as she walked away. He watched until the tails of her cloak were out of view before going back to his state of numbness. He was almost alone again. 

Almost. 

A group of three Hufflepuffs were whispering at their table opposite Harry, still sipping at their steaming goblets. 

There was one other person in the hall, however, aside from them. 

Draco sat, his fingers wrapped around his own goblet of cinnamon juice, as if he was attempting to warm himself from an unknown draft. 

He stared into the distance... 

Draco was writing slowly on a piece of parchment, concentrating, when he felt an odd presence, as if someone was standing directly above him. He looked around the room, out of instinct... 

Green eyes leveled with his blue and, only for a split second, it was as if two strangers were passing in the street and acknowledging one another. 

The look broke, someone had looked away, and the second dissolved. 

Harry felt a pang of frustration, Draco felt as if something was off, by neither really thought on _why_ they felt the way they did. 

Harry, having been the one to look away, gathered himself and stood from the empty table. 

But, reaching the oak doors to the entrance hall, he was blocked. 

Draco, standing three inches above Harry at 6'1", had an odd look on his face. Well, 'odd' by Malfoy standards, anyways. For once he looked down on the raven haired Potter with no contempt in his features. 

Giving a suspicious look at Draco, Harry went to tell him to move. But Draco practically shoved the scroll he'd been writting on at Harry, walking off into the entrance hall and towards the dungeons. 

Harry stood, bewildered, as he unfolded the crumpled piece he'd had thrown at him. 

_** You don't know what it is. **_

... and that was all it said. 

  
****************** 

Boring chapter... a very quiet day at Hogwarts, eh?   
Oh, and a **DUVET** is a blanket like thing... in Britain (so I'm told) they have these things they use... you can change the covers on them and such and the heaviness of the duvet is measure in TOGS so I couldn't help using the world instead of blanket. :d 


	9. Control

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. They belong to JK Rowling... as well as many elements in the story. The plot is mine, however. Reviews are GREATLY appreciated! Oh, and this IS slash. So watch out.   
**Time Period:** About 7 years after school. Harry is about 24 & flashbacks of his 7th year at Hogwarts.   
**Spoilers:** Hopefully you've read all the books and book five. But it doesn't matter to much. If characters are dead... it's because it's implied that they died in the passing time period. ;D Did that make sense? I hope so. :x   
**WARNING:** This chapter contains violence and ideas of nonconsensual sex... 

**Chapter Eight**   
******************   
**Hogwarts**   
_7th Year   
(December 31st, New Years Eve)_

_Pale, strong, hands reached around his neck, squeezing the air from his lungs. _

"Do you think I like watching you fail, boy?" His head was slammed into the cobblestone, cracking. The scraps on his knees bleed warm through his pants. 

"ANSWER ME!" A slap, his mouth tasted of blood. 

"N-no..." He choked out an answer. He could feel hands working his zipper, pulling harshly and violently as he tried to pull away. The harsh rope tore at his wrists and he moaned out in pain. "You like it, don't you?" Nails dug into his upper arms, the pain searing through him. Hips were pressed to his, grinding, and Draco whimpered in fear, closing his eyes tight as the hands on his wrists left blood dripping. Repeating his question, Lucius removed his hands from Drano's wrists and down his arms. 

He woke up screaming to the empty air, his blonde hair now pressed with sweat from his fever. 

Draco could almost smell the musty stank on him, feel the pain in his arms and knees. Gasping for air, though his lungs were full of it, he felt a pang in his right arm. Half-moon scars blazed red as he stared at them- looking as if they'd never healed from that night, as though they were about to bleed before his very eyes. 

Tears wet his face but he wiped them away quickly. He suspected his father was watching and waiting to smack him for being a pansy. _"Take it like a man."_ He could almost hear the words echoing in his ears. 

.... 

Harry was alone in his room tonight. All alone with his painting, torch light, and warm bench. 

The torches blazed, warming the room, and Harry's skin glowed a haunting shade of pale blue. The flames reflected his emotions. 

When he was feeling quizzical and manipulative, they glowed a pale green, a Slytherin green. On his calm, more thoughtful, nights they shone a powder blue, much like the Ravenclaws Quidditch robes. Yellow was for the days he was happy, feeling a little childish, Hufflepuffs bright shade. When he was angry, glowering, scared, and feeling threatened, red, the flames' true color, blazed high and warmed the room like his boiling blood. 

The room was full of magic, more than he could ever know. The flame was one thing, the painting another. 

So, while he sat there with the blue flames licking the air, his green eyes reflected the painting above him. 

He'd been mulling over things in his mind, thinking on the same two subjects again and again. 

In a few days time Hermione and Ron would be back to school with him, filled with stories of adventures they'd had during Holidays. Would he tell him of his own adventures? Let them in on the secret he held? Or should he keep it as his private sanctuary? He wasn't sure yet. 

The other subject... Draco Malfoy. 

He was in the back of Harry's mind constantly. Each time he saw Draco there was an awkward stare and then both sets of eyes diverted away. 

_You don't know what it is._

No, he didn't know. That much Draco figured out, but what else? Was there a story behind the room, the painting in it, and the mood changing flames? Did Draco know something Harry didn't? 

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Harry sat up from the bench. 

... 

The room had called to Draco, had let him know someone within the walls had been thinking about him. 

Setting out for a walk to clear his mind, Draco's feet had taken on their own direction. He could have walked to the room in his sleep; his body seemed to know the path from before. 

He was surprised when he came upon the door but he stood there for a minute watching Potter lying on the bench as he had done. 

A shooting pain crept up his right arm, throbbing. Biting his lip against the unexpected shock, Draco kept quiet as angry memories came flooding back for the second time that night. As though Lucius was standing above him, his nails once again buried in the skin of his arms. He saw his fathers steely eyes, much like his own, staring down into his with rage. A powerful, hateful, rage. 

There he was, towering in the doorway. For a moment Harry stared. 

Mummering a swear under his breath, Draco felt himself fall down weak onto the ground, his legs giving out under him and his head hot with fever. 

_"Imperio."_ The words haunted him and he felt like he was completly losing control. 

Hearing the word as it had been whispered that night, Draco re-lived the hopeless feeling of submitting to another's wants and needs. Feeling his fathers anger, not his own, he couldn't control himself. 

Harry watched Draco shudder on the floor, his eyes closed tight like he was trying to avoid seeing something he was afraid to look upon. The Gryffindor wondered what to say, or if anything _should_ be said... 

Then it happened. 

A scream shook through Harry and, in a quick second, he was pushed against the wall. The tear of his robes sounded in his ears and he felt the cold stone rip the flesh on his elbows. 

With the sound of air whooshing from lungs, Draco had pinned Harry hard against the wall. Harry's muscles, thanks to seven years of Quidditch, were no match against Draco's. He stood at 6'1", a good three inches above Harry's small frame. 

He didn't have a chance, but he tried to push Draco away with all the strength he had. 

Draco was seething, pushing all of Harry to the wall. 

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced when a cold hand was clamped to his mouth. 

"Don't," one word whispered harshly from Draco's mouth, leaving Harry confused as to whether it was meant for him or if Draco had been speaking to himself. 

His blue eyes were wild, shining a bright blue and not a normal dull. 

The flames of the torches now were red, Harry was angry. 

Harry watched as the other boy pulled his wand from his pocket. Slowly, Draco pointed it at Harry's throat. 

"I hate you, Potter." He spat the sentence in disgust through gritted teeth, staring Harry in the eye. 

"I don't know why I helped you." Harry cringed, Draco's face inches from his own, the wand pressed deep into his neck. Draco released Harry, slowing backing away, and let the press on his wand loosen from Harry's throat. 

The blood sticky on his elbows, Harry made no move to get away. 

"I'm not to fond of you, either, Malfoy." Came his obvious reply. 

He had nothing else to say as Draco threatened him. 

The skills of a Death Eater's son weren't easily forgotten. If he was loyal to his father, to his way of life, Draco knew the unforgivables to an art and much more. He knew the Dark Arts, it was pounded into him as soon as he'd reached the age old enough for a wand. He knew things that Harry had next to nothing knowledge about. 

So he didn't move... he didn't _dare_. 

"'Don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort.'" He quoted Draco from first year, snotty tone included. 

"I just wanted to give you advice, I offerend to be your friend, I didn't ask anything else from you. Look where your good friends got you, Potter. Up all hours of the night trying to slit your wrists in a cold, dark, corner. Oh, but it won't happen, you won't die unless until it's time for you to prove yourself. You'll die trying to kill him, and you'll fail. He wouldn't have it any other way, he won't let you die at anyones hand but His." Draco sneered, striking on a crucial expectation. 

Harry's green eyes grew darker which each word Draco spoke. He moved to push Draco away... he was too slow. Draco was on him again, just three feet from the door. 

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU MALFOY," he screamed. 

Draco was fully pressed to him, closer than before, and could almost smell the fear on his enemy. 

"Funny, isn't it?" The blonde mused, lowering his lips to whisper into Harry's ear. "How can you weaken _Him_, but you can't get yourself together to stop _me_?" Harry shivered as Draco's warm breath grazed his ear. 

"Without your wand, brave Gryffindor?" 

Robes left nothing to imagination, Draco could feel every inch of Harry as he leaned into him and he hadn't noticed a precense of a wand. 

"It's a shame, I was hoping," Draco's lips hoevered before Harry's own, breathing hotly, "for a good duel." He finished his sentence with a devious smile and stepped back from Harry quickly. The eerie silence seemed to echo, and Harry darted for the door. 

Draco rasied his wand, awkwardly as if someone else had control, and took a steady aim on Harry. 

Draco whispered quietly and confidently, "_Imperio._" 

With a sickening crunch, like cheap plastic crushed under someones boot, Harry fell to the ground. 

Draco had caught him off guard and penetrated the wall around him. He'd gotten Harry under his spell and Harry was his marionette to string along. 

He was in Harry's mind, he had complete control. 

  
******************   
Any reviews would be loved... I know I don't update as often as I should and I never write long chapters... But pwease? I liked this chapter and I think the story is finally heading where I want it to. As you can tell, I've given Draco reasons to be nasty and yet afraid and in need of someone aswell... There's nothing going on in present time, Harry's alone most of the time while Draco's off at his work. He IS hiding after all... and always thinking about his days at Hogwarts. ;) 


	10. Unexpected

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. They belong to JK Rowling... as well as many elements in the story. The plot is mine, however. Reviews are GREATLY appreciated! Oh, and this IS slash. So watch out.   
**Time Period:** About 7 years after school. Harry is about 24 & flashbacks of his 7th year at Hogwarts.   
**Spoilers:** Hopefully you've read all the books and book five. But it doesn't matter to much. If characters are dead... it's because it's implied that they died in the passing time period. ;D Did that make sense? I hope so. :x   
**WARNING:** This chapter contains violence and ideas of nonconsensual sex... 

**Chapter Nine**   
  
**Hogwarts**   
_7th Year   
(December 31st, New Years Eve)_

In his mind Harry had complete control, he could tell his legs to move. But the fact was that he could _tell_ them that all he wanted, but it didn't mean they would _listen_. 

He could feel the suffocation of too many thoughts in his mind, his own and those of someone else. Harry hadn't even realized he'd fallen on the ground until he felt his legs bending to pull him up. Within seconds he watched himself glid across the room, back in the direction he was running from. 

Draco smiled sadistically, and laughed. 

"How does it feel, Potter? To think and not be able to do?" 

Harry wondered in his mind if Draco actually expected him to answer. 

"No, I don't expect an answer, Potter." 

"Fuckyou," came the slurred, forced, mumble of words. 

"Now, now... no need to get touchy." Harry's eyes moved to follow Dracos motions. 

A voice in his mind told him to turn back around and just walk away. But he found himself against the wall again, this time not fighting when Draco approached. 

His arms rose above his head, feeling an invisible grip on his wrists- holding him there. 

The room was quiet, the only sound was an echo from Draco's feet coming across the room toward Harry. 

Sliding his hands up his enemies wrists- Draco came closer. 

And there it was... Harry's fear staring back at him through his eyes. How well Draco knew of his own capabilities, to take advantage of innocence, to feel no guilt before, during, and after. 

Something in Harry's eyes flickered as Draco gazed into them- wand still in hand. 

The flame flickered red and blue, the fire lost as the two boys were stuck in between emotions. 

An excitment rose within Draco as he brought down his lips to Harry's. He took in the boys scent, felt the breath on his lips. 

He held onto his mind, still, and pressed his lips softly against the Gryffindors. Getting no reaction, until he instilled the thought in his mind, Draco bit gently on Harry's bottom lip, gently... but heatedly. 

The kiss deepened and Harry felt his thoughts give in to the forced emotions. Draco's hands were on his hips now, Harry's arms hanging limply at his sides. 

Draco's wand pointed and his lips hoevered just in front of Harrys, lightly brushing. 

Pointing, his wand away, suddenly, Harry could feel his motions come back into his own control. 

Harry lunged for Draco but, to the blondes surprise, it wasn't to kill him. 

Draco landed on the rough floor, Harry soon on top and pinning his arms at his sides with cold hands. 

He felt, but didn't see, Harry's lips come down on his neck. He whimpered instinctively when Harry's toungue flicked out across his throat. 

Harry's groin was positioned just on top if Draco's hips, rocking softly and unconciously as he nipped at Draco's reddening lips. 

"Pott-" Draco mumbled, struggling to form the name of the person holding him down. 

But his mouth was covered the moment he tried to talk. 

Harry's fingertips trailed over Draco's bare arms, up the sleeves of his robe. 

Draco hadn't been expecting this, he'd planned to have a little fun and let Harry leave. He'd expected him to run out, scared, andhe'd be left to smirk to himself. But here Harry was- dominating him and he was allowing it. The reality of the situation hit him in the face as he felt a hand fumble with his zipper. 

His pants were sliding down, suddenly, past his ankles, and his boots were removed. 

Harry slid over Draco, who was now wearing only a shirt and, odd looking as it was, his black robes. But those were gone soon, and Draco was left on the strangely warm floor with only his robe under him and a pair of black boxers. 

He didn't protest as a full clothed Harry was on top of him again. 

Draco pulled Harry to him, his cheeks red and his movements feverish. Harry didn't resist, his hands on Draco's upper arms. 

But what Draco didn't know was that he'd put Harry exactly where Harry wanted to be. 

  
WOW. It's been a long time since I updated. I'm really in a mood though to update things! I started another story, though it's not a HP fic, and this one was screaming to be written. It's not much, but maybe I can move on from here. Reviews will be stored in a little red box of happiness. :p THANKS! 


End file.
